Silent Night
by bonnie-incognito
Summary: A collection of Christmas themed oneshots, each based around on of twelve prompts. [Written for Huffle's Twelve Fics Of Christmas Challenge] So far: Dance, Firewhiskey.
1. Dance

**For Huffle's _Twelve Fics Of Christmas Challenge_: **

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_w_ h** i**_ s_ p **e** _r -_ i **t**

(_the angels come screaming_)

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**_dance_**

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His last hour was to be spent in the house he had so detested all his life? So be it; he was a big boy now, no longer dancing to the tune of death nor darkness. Because, in truth, he was already dead. His damning certainty came in the form of a blackened tattoo, its serpentine coils already engraved upon his arm; today, however, that mark of death twisted to spell out his sentence: 'DEAD'.

Today was to be a day of harsh truths. The night had been tugging at his strings from the very start, like some sick marionette puppet, wearily twitching and jerking to the commands of his dark master. But they say it takes two to tango, and his dance partner was certainly most appropriate.

Already he could hear her footsteps in the hall, his executioner - for this was not murder, it was simply ridding the world of an inconvenience - hunting him down with her ruthless efficiency, an invisible net which he had so long ago learned to fear, closing, closing, closing…

It was time for Regulus to hang up his ballet shoes.

(_because, in truth, he had been dancing his whole life_)

-x-

If death takes two partners, it is a sure thing that both will end up dead. So he remembers his last dance (_a dance with death, no less_), and knows with a sickening assurance that, in truth, he is already dead. Clear as day, the bittersweet memory floats through his consciousness towards him, a mere wisp of curling smoke in the battlefield in the damned. Smoke and mirrors; her speciality.

He remembers her, what she did, and hates her all the more, hates the person she has become, hates the terrible beauty possessing the face that was once his, but his hate is tainted with a sparkling, inexplicable love, ripping and clawing at the edge of his very being as he fights her. And he _knows_ she can do better, and, in truth, he _wants_ her to do better, because then he will be free, free from the bewilderment and vulnerability of this dangerous, hate-filled, beguiling dance.

But Sirius was not to face death without fear; so totally and completely different from his brother, terror clouded his thoughts in his last moments, because surely this was not all life is worth? A smile and a word, in exchange for a human being so utterly complex in every way? (_the price of life, or the price of death?_) He could see the fire dancing in his murderer's eyes - for this was truly murder.

Pirouette one last time. One last flying leap. Some fancy footwork. A quick duck. Dead.

(_because, in truth, he'd been dancing his whole life_)

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**'The angels come screaming' belongs to MCR, (Heaven Help Us) and I get the feeling I've skewed my tenses again? Oh well, some like it... question is, do _you_? So, pleeease review! 'She' is Bellatrix, probably quite obviously, but I left out her name for the purposes of a mysterious feeling... XD My personification of death is also Bella, just to avoid confuddlement there. Byeee!**


	2. Firewhiskey

**Hi! Chappie two of my extraordinarily sloooooow entry for Huffie's challenge...**

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**b u r n**

**

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**

_The Fray, All At Once - _

_a_n**d** _a_l**l **_a_t **o**_n_c**e** _t_h**e** _c_r**o**_w_d **b**_e_g**i**_n_s **t**_o_ s**i**_n_g

**s**_o_m**e**_t_i**m**_e_s **t**_h_e **h**_a_r**d**_e_s**t** _t_h**i**_n_g

**a**_n_d **t**_h_e **r**_i_g**h**_t_ t**h**_i_n**g** _a_r**e** _t_h**e** _s_a**m**_e_

_

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_

All the years before, they've needed it.

(_need it, or want it, dearest?_)

They've needed the burning sting of the hot liquid down their throats, the bite of fire in their stomachs, just to keep away the pain of their lonely reality.

(_you have no reality anymore darling._)

Because, sometimes, it just feels damned better to be like that – despondent and inebriated, wallowing in grief and gloom throughout such a supposedly joyous day of wasted celebrations and sparkling festivity.

(_think of the children!_)

But this year, when that pale hand reached for the near-empty bottle, soft fingers locked gently around his own.

(_it's called abstinence, Ronald..._)

And he understood; it was time to move on now.

(_but do you really?_)

Too many years had passed, they had seen too much, but they would not always be able to hide behind a liquor-induced stupor.

(_how many times do I have to tell you?_)

So the tainted bottle was returned to the shelf, glittering poison shining within.

(_Our lives are toxic enough already, you know..._)

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**I wrote this in about half an hour, so don't get on at me about lack of vocab...**


End file.
